


grapes and pearls

by okapi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale doesn't make An Effort, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, Not beta read we fall like Crowley, Other, Oysters, POV Alternating, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Rome, Scene: Kingdom of Wessex 537 AD (Good Omens), Sex with Snake Form Crowley (Good Omens), Short Chapters, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), grapes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25550884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale meet again in Rome, which leads to confessions, tokens, and fluffy sexytimes.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 57
Collections: Season of Kink, Sunshine Challenge





	1. post Rome 42 ADish [aka Crowley is cockblocked by oysters and love!]

**Author's Note:**

> For the DW 2020 Sunshine Challenge prompt #6: violet and my DW 2020 Season of Kink bingo square N-2 dirty talk.

“Hello there, Crowley!”

Crowley stopped and turned and swore. All he really wanted to do was get drunk. He really didn’t have energy to be polite to chattering angels, no matter how nice they looked in their white tunics.

“What are you doing here?” asked Aziraphale.

At least he hadn’t asked if Crowley was still a demon like last time. Crowley knew he shouldn’t get his prickles up, but his current assignment was the kind that always put him in the worst mood.

“Orgies,” he grumbled.

“No.” Aziraphale started and looked toward the threshold from which Crowley had emerged. “What, really? Not, uh, metaphorically.”

“No. I’d love a metaphor. That’d be change. How ‘bout you? Why are you back in Rome so soon?”

“Oh, I’m here for a wedding.”

Crowley grimaced.

“Would you like to go to Petronius’?” asked Aziraphale. “I was so disappointed that it was closed last time.”

Crowley shrugged. “Why not?”

Two cups of what was considered drinkable and Crowley was feeling a bit more charitable toward Aziraphale in particular and the world in general. They were seated in a quiet, shady spot for two, not very far from the place in the street where they’d met but shielded and muffled from the city’s bustle and noise by high, thick, vine-covered walls.

In addition to the jug and the glasses, there was a plate of grapes on the table between them. The grapes were in bunches of different colours: green, reddish-purple, and a purple so dark as to be almost black.

“You look tired,” observed Aziraphale, who had been holding up both ends of the conversation so far.

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “Orgies are tiresome,” he complained to the ground.

One corner of Aziraphale’s lovely mouth twitched, then he tilted his head. “Crowley, may I ask a rather intimate question?”

Crowley’s eyebrows rose, and he felt the spark of something like interest in existence for the first time in weeks. He was so intrigued that he plucked a grape and ate it and said, without affect,

“Go ahead. All ears.”

“What do you wear to an orgy?”

The question was so ludicrous that Crowley laughed, and he felt his bad mood begin to ebb. He liked this angel. A lot.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter, most humans don’t end up wearing anything for long.”

“No, I mean, you, Crowley.”

Crowley’s eyebrows were getting their exercise for the day. They jumped again.

Crowley made a gesture at his clothing. “I come as I am and sod anyone who has a problem with it. And not the fun kind of sodding.”

Aziraphale huffed impatiently. “No, I mean, what kind of Effort do you make?”

“Oh!” The penny dropped. “Cock.”

Aziraphale nodded thoughtfully and turned his attention to the grapes.

Crowley studied Aziraphale’s profile. “But you can make any Effort you’d like. Would you like to go? Seeing as how I’m in charge of that one,” he jerked a hand in the direction of the street behind them, “I can get you a front row seat to anything you’d like to see. Or participate in. Or,” Crowley frowned thinking of what else there was to do at an orgy, “whatever.” He shrugged.

“No, no. I was just wondering. I rarely make an Effort of any kind. I suppose I’m lazy that way.” Aziraphale blushed and turned his attention once more the bunches on the plate. “I like grapes.”

Crowley poured himself a third glass and drank deep. “Lust isn’t my favourite,” he admitted. “I like Wrath and Envy and Avarice. They allow for more creativity. But I’m serious. If you ever want to go and I’m not around, just tell them—”

Aziraphale’s mouth was full. He chewed and swallowed and said, quickly and offhandedly, as he reached for more grapes, “Oh, I wouldn’t think of going to a place like that without you.” His hand stopped, and his eyes grew momentarily wide. He stuffed one too many of the fruits in his mouth and smiled sheepishly.

Crowley sat up. “Oh, really?”

Well, well, well. This day was turning out very differently than he’d imagined.

Crowley realised, in that moment, he had been wrong. Lust-mongering with humans was, in fact, tiresome. However, lust-mongering with an intriguing angel, really the only intriguing angel, might not be a bad way to spend an afternoon. The temptation would never work, but it never hurt to keep one’s skills fresh.

“I could take you around and show you the options. There are private chambers, too, if you’d like to try something out without an audience.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh, and any Effort you’d like.” He considered and quickly added, “And I can change into anything, too, however you’d like it. Hard, soft. Bit of a swish of the old rod. Or a tickle. Tie you up, tie you down. You can just watch. Or be in a crowd. In the middle, on the edge, third from the left.” He smiled and nodded at the plate. “I can get you some of those, too.”

There, that was the hard sell. Crowley was done.

Aziraphale returned Crowley’s smile but shook his head. “I can’t.”

Not ‘I don’t want to.’

Interesting.

Nonetheless, Crowley harrumphed. He raked his eyes over Aziraphale’s seated form and leaned closer.

“We could fuck.”

Aziraphale held his gaze, and Crowley felt his own body stir.

“How?”

Well, that was a tug of a fish on the line if ever Crowley had felt one.

“I could take you. You could take me. We could invite any number, and I do many _any_ number, of humans to join us and fill the ranks or seats or orifices. What’s your fancy, angel? Theoretically, I mean. Just talking.” This last bit was also a trick of Crowley’s, but he earnestly wanted to know what was in the angel’s dirty little mind, so he waited patiently and drank spiritedly.

“By ‘taking’ you mean…”

“I mean cocks, flesh and reproductions in stone and glass, and fingers and tongues,” that got a look, interesting, Crowley noted, “in arseholes and cunts and mouths and in hands and between thighs and…”

Crowley was making himself a bit warm, so he waved a hand, which meant ‘etcetera, etcetera.’

Really why was it that watching humans hour after hour indulge themselves did very little for him, but that simply rattling off the menu with this creature definitely got him hot under the proverbial collar-which-hadn’t-been-invented-yet? Crowley didn’t want to think about the answer to that question too much.

He watched the possibilities mentioned flit through the angel’s thoughts. Aziraphale wasn’t unaffected, Effort or no Effort. That was flattering. A tempter’s archenemy was indifference.

“I suppose any of it might be interesting, I mean, arousing. In front of others?”

“Some humans like to watch. Some like to listen. Some like to be watched. But, as I said, there are private rooms. It could be just you and me. Quiet. Cosy.”

Crowley liked the way Aziraphale was looking at him, with a gentle, curious scrutiny. Crowley turned his head and struck an artificial pose, which had its intended effect of making Aziraphale laugh.

“I’m a very good lover. I can provide references in case you doubt the word of a demon, which, by the way, you should, always.”

Silence settled. Crowley waited. Aziraphale fiddled with a bit of stem.

“Theoretically, I think I’d like…”

Crowley leaned in closer, eyebrows rising.

“…a garden variety…”

Aziraphale huffed and shrugged and ate more grapes.

Crowley was genuinely puzzled. He probed gently,

“A garden variety of what, angel?”

When Aziraphale turned to face Crowley, he was pink. Crowley watched those cute lips pucker and expel one word.

“You.”

A garden variety of me? thought Crowley. What in the hell was that?

Oh!

A garden _of Eden_ variety of me!

Oh, angel.

Crowley smirked. “I could charge a premium for that!” he crowed, but then he saw Aziraphale’s face fall. “But I wouldn’t. Unless you wanted to put on a show.”

Aziraphale shook his head and began plucking grapes at a frenzied rate. The stems were nude in moments.

Crowley pressed on.

“You wouldn’t even have to make an Effort, angel. I’d slither and slide and rub my smooth scales against your…”

“Mmpgh!”

Crowley was liking this. A lot.

“Coil round you. Snug. Strong. Oh, but my tongue…”

Crowley’s tongue forked in his mouth, and he let it flick out from between his lips.

“I know.”

Crowley shifted in his seat. Oh, the angel had thought about it, had he? Thought about Crowley’s tongue tickling him, smelling him, everywhere. Yes, Crowley wanted that, too.

“Crowley.”

“Aziraphale.”

The next thing out of Crowley’s mouth was going to be an insistence that they head directly across the street, get themselves a private chamber, and fornicate like, well, like a snake and an angel for weeks when—

PLOP!

“Oh, here they are! Oysters!”

Aziraphale’s expression changed completely as he took in the plate.

Crowley almost cursed the blighted things. There were six, four on half shells and two completely enclosed. They were grey and slimy and not appealing at all.

But Aziraphale was thrilled. He set to slurping at once.

“Are you absolutely certain?”

“Yes!”

Oh, this wouldn’t do. Crowley was in as bad a mood as when they’d met in the street. Aziraphale slurped the fourth oyster down and closed his eyes, savouring the taste and texture of it.

He hadn’t meant to confess his fantasy, but Crowley was wily, and he had a way of making Aziraphale want to, well, expose himself. But Aziraphale had no intention of going back to that topic, so he said the first thing which came into his head.

“The wedding was wonderful.”

“Huh?”

“The wedding I attended. There was such love between the two humans. I was rather drunk on it.”

“Hmm.” Crowley reached for the new jug which had arrived with oysters and poured himself another glass. He drank.

“When they pledged themselves, it was beautiful. Such tenderness and understanding. Compassion, mercy. And a sense of humour. They told such delightful anecdotes about one another. Full of forgiveness and joy. So charming.”

Crowley grunted. Aziraphale caught his gaze and held it. He was good at that.

“They pledged to be there for one another for as long as they existed. To help one another and cherish one another and…”

“Angel, for pity’s sake, stop.” Crowley’s voice was very low. There was a tiny smile on his lips, and he did something he’d never done before.

He touched Aziraphale.

He reached under the table and squeezed Aziraphale’s knee. Once. Quick but sure.

“Stop,” he repeated quietly, gently, tenderly. And as if Aziraphale hadn’t understood, Crowley lowered his eyes and let his golden orbs sparkle softly in Aziraphale’s direction. “I can’t hear that kind of filth.”

Aziraphale didn’t stop. “I can tell the difference, of course. These oaths were real. They respect each other and want the best for one another. Oh, it was beautiful to witness.”

“You cried, didn’t you?”

“A bit.”

Crowley groaned, “That’s disgusting.” He smiled at Aziraphale. “I don’t think I believe you, either.”

“I can’t lie, Crowley!” Aziraphale looked earnestly at him. “I’ll invite you to the next one. We could go together. You’ll see.”

“I’ve been to a couple of weddings,” murmured Crowley. “Not bad places to sow some trouble, to be honest.”

Aziraphale hardly paid attention to the words. He was watching Crowley shift uncomfortably in his seat, and he recognised the movement.

“Crowley, are you aroused?”

“What? No! You’re mad. How could that bilge do anything to me!”

Aziraphale smirked. “So if I told you the two held each other’s head in their hands and when their lips met, it was with such—”

“Oh, shut up and eat your damn oysters!”

Aziraphale shot Crowley a triumphant look. I know your secret, too, now. Crowley turned away.

Aziraphale said nothing aloud but simply took up the knife and, with a bit of ethereal elbow grease, got the oyster shell open.

“Oh!” he gasped.

“Whut?” Crowley turned back around.

Aziraphale dropped the knife and held up the pearl. “Oh, Crowley, would you like this? I’d like to give it to you.” Please! his eyes pleaded.

Crowley made a soft pouty face and nodded and turned his hand palm up.

Aziraphale dropped the white, round pearl into his cupped hand. “It’s a promise, Crowley, from me to you. One day.”

Crowley removed his dark glasses. “You and your love.”

“Will you at least try one?” Aziraphale held up the shell.

Crowley nodded reluctantly and let Aziraphale put the shell to his lips and tip it.

Crowley curled his fingers round the pearl, then, much to Aziraphale’s dismay, he popped it, too, into his mouth and swallowed.

“Crowley!”

“I won’t lose it. Hell can’t find it. It’s safer there” was all Crowley would say, but then he shoved his dark glasses back on his face and grabbed the little knife. “Last one’s for you, angel.”

Crowley nearly chopped the thing in two but there it was.

A large, dark pearl, a swarthy black-violet bead, not unlike the darkest of the grapes, but round in shape, held between Crowley’s thumb and forefinger.

“Yeah, that’s about right,” murmured Crowley as he studied it. “For you, angel.”

“Oh, Crowley,” sighed Aziraphale as Crowley dropped the pearl into his palm.

“Yeah,” said Crowley gruffly.

Aziraphale’s eyes blurred.

“Oh, don’t cry, angel.”

Aziraphale sniffed. “I’m not.”

“I’ve got to go. I can’t stay.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Orgy duty?”

Crowley snarled and nodded. “Damn it, damn me, damn all of this.” He poured another glass and downed it in three gulps.

“Then I’ll see you around.”

Gloom settled on Aziraphale heavy and hard until he felt a tiny, forked tickling at his earlobe.

“Don’t be ssso sssad, angel. We’ll meet again.”


	2. post-Rome [aka Crowley is cockblocked by grapes]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale cross paths at a wedding after Rome. Short chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, ha, silly me, I didn't realize Rome was after Jesus' crucifixion and had this as Cana originally.

“Aziraphale.”

“Oh, hello, Crowley. Fancy meeting you here. A wedding.”

“Yeah, I hope you aren’t here for the happy couple because they’re both mine.”

“No, no. I am here as one of the guests. A miracle. Just an old standby. Water-into-wine.”

“Oh.”

As if dancing, they made a synchronous step away from the crowd.

Aziraphale’s eyes darted all over Crowley, face, neck, clothes, then his expression clouded. “Haven’t seen you since Rome,” he said politely and flatly.

“Yeah, long time, no see.”

Crowley’s mouth twitched, then he put a hand into his own hair and drew out a length of thin ginger braid which was secured in the middle by a sizeable coiled seashell. He plucked the seashell and tapped it against one hand.

The pearl rolled out.

See? his look said. He returned the ensemble to his hair and crossed his arms over his chest, asking silently, Showed you mine, now where’s yours?

Aziraphale’s eyes darted round, and then he and Crowley stepped even further into the shadows.

Then Aziraphale did something he’d not done before.

He touched Crowley.

Specifically, he took Crowley’s hand and brought it to his own waist, guiding Crowley’s fingers to the exact place he wanted them.

Crowley’s eyebrows rose, and, being hypersensitive, he instantly detected the thin metal chain through the coarse layers of fabric which Aziraphale wore. Crowley’s fingers followed the trail around to the center of Aziraphale’s body and then straight down, down…

Hell’s bells! The angel had hung it like a pendant, right where, if the ethereal idiot were making a certain kind of Effort, there might be another kind of pearl.

Something moved behind Crowley.

“Oh, they’re bringing the grapes! That’s my cue, Crowley! Lovely meeting you again. Do try the wine. Got to go! ‘Bye!”

Crowley swore. “Damned grapes!”


	3. Kingdom of Wessex 537 AD [Crowley sneaks into Aziraphale's camp]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexytimes for Snake Crowley & Sir Aziraphale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I'd try no genitalia for Aziraphale this time. I imagine him to be sort of like an ethereal Barbie doll. Smooth.

“What is it?”

“The Black Knight has sent an evil serpent to attack us!”

“Really?”

“Black, huge, with golden eyes!”

“Oh, God. Listen get me the biggest covered basket we have and tell everyone to stay in camp until I return. I am the only one who will be dealing with the serpent.”

* * *

Two hours later, Aziraphale was putting on a good show of struggling with the heavy basket as he carried it through camp to his own tent.

“Have no more fear!” he called.

The camp cheered.

“And I think this calls for a celebration!” he added.

The camp cheered even louder.

Aziraphale sat and lifted the lid of the basket. “This is no time or place to be a cold-blooded creature, Crowley,” he admonished as he tucked furs stole round the coiled serpent. “Now someone’s going to come and help me out of this armour and bring me some food. Would you like anything? Grapes?”

The snake hissed.

“Very well.” Aziraphale closed the basket lid. “No need to be snippy.”

“What are you doing here?” asked Aziraphale sometime later. “You’re going to catch your death of cold.”

Crowley uncoiled, rising up, sliding out of the basket. He scaled Aziraphale’s torso until he could tuck his diamond head behind Aziraphale’s ear and flick his forked tongue.

Aziraphale sighed and rubbed his cheek against Crowley’s scales.

Crowley burrowed his head in Aziraphale’s hair while the rests of him exited the basket.

“I suppose there’s my heat.”

Crowley licked along Aziraphale’s nape and the dipped beneath his layers of tunic to slide down his back, licking.

“Sire?”

“Oh, God!” breathed Aziraphale. “A moment, please!”

He quickly shut the basket and slipped it behind his cot while Crowley whipped wholly under his garments. Aziraphale pulled a heavy blanket from the cot and wrapped it around himself to disguise the enormous rolls which were bulging beneath his clothes.

“Yes?”

“Your food and drink.”

“Oh, wonderful, thank you.”

“Are you ill?”

No, Aziraphale just had an enormous snake wrapped round his body and a forked tongue tickling his chest. “I’m very tired from my ordeal with the snake. I think I’ll retire early. Please don’t disturb me but do enjoy yourselves.”

When they were alone, Aziraphale hissed.

“Crowley! You naughty, naughty snake!”

Crowley replied by nuzzling his whole head into Aziraphale’s armpit and vibrating with cheeky mirth.

“You see I still wear it. You swallowed yours again, didn’t you?”

Crowley’s head was nestled under Aziraphale’s chin. The tip of his tail traced the metal chain, a much sturdier version of the one the angel had worn in Cana those many years ago, around Aziraphale’s waist and down, down…

“Oh,” moaned Aziraphale. He fell gently onto his side on the cot as Crowley’s tail flicked the pearl. “How is it possible that I feel it when you do that? It feels as if you’re touching the most intimate part of me. I don’t understand, Crowley. It’s just a pearl. Oh, I don’t care. Do it again.”

“Oh.”

Aziraphale had lost track of time. All he knew was pleasure.

Even without limbs, Crowley was very dexterous. He’d succeeded in ridding Aziraphale of all his clothes and creating a warm tent of blankets about his and Aziraphale’s joined bodies and the cot, which was in every moment of the proceedings about to collapse from the strain of their movements.

Aziraphale still hadn’t bothered with an Effort, and, as it turned out, he hadn’t needed to.

He enjoyed the smooth caress of Crowley’s scales and the delicious flicker of his forked tongue on every part of him. He’d been wrapped in the thick rope of Crowley’s body while Crowley licked and toyed and teased and flicked the pearl for what seemed like hours. He’d rut like a fiend against the length of Crowley, feeling pleasure burst over and over and over inside him. He often had to bite Crowley hard to keep from crying out.

He only allowed himself a whisper.

More. Please. Thank you. Crowley. Again.

The pleasure came in bursts, then changed to waves, but each wave seemed to last a very, very long time.

And so the night fell.

Aziraphale was on his back with Crowley writhing atop him. He was on his side with Crowley slipping in and out, up and down, twisting and spiraling. He was on top of Crowley, grinding hard, so hard at one point he sincerely feared for the integrity of the cot.

Aziraphale licked. He sucked. He squirmed. But most of all, he loved Crowley.

At one point, Aziraphale burrowed his head out of the covers to see a bunch of dark violet grapes hanging from the tip of Crowley’s tail. Aziraphale lifted his mouth and bit and ate and let the juice run down his chin and rubbed his stickiness against Crowley and laughed.

“Oh, Crowley, this has to be so much better than an orgy!”

Crowley tickled Aziraphale’s cheek with his tongue and tightened his coiled grip around Aziraphale’s body and rested his head on Aziraphale’s chest and closed his eyes and slept until dawn.

Crowley stood over a sleeping Aziraphale and sighed.

He’d done it. He’d made Aziraphale’s fantasy come true.

The vibrations, the scents, the feel of him, it had all been exquisite, very, very much better than a stupid orgy, really, there was no comparison, and the little smile on Aziraphale’s lips was like the pearl that was slowly, and for the umpteenth time, making its way through Crowley’s corporal digestive track.

He sighed once more and wished he could stay.

But no.

Back to work. Time to foment dissent and discord and the lot, and doing it within the camp of Sir Aziraphale of the Table Round, a camp whose members were no doubt much hungover from a night’s revelry, well, that was all right, wasn’t it? Just made things easier.

And if Crowley were quiet about it, well, Aziraphale wouldn’t wake up until it was far too late.

“Until next time, angel.”


	4. Post Apoca-NOT [the South Downs cottage]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sweet coda about a wedding in a garden.

“Oh, Crowley, here, in the garden.”

It didn’t look like much of a garden, really.

he cottage on the South Downs was foundationally sound, but it needed a lot of work. The space behind it, however, had obviously been forgotten for centuries.

“What?”

“We could have a wedding here,” said Aziraphale. “Oh, it will be marvelous. We can invite Anathema and Newton and Shadwell and Madame Tracy and our new neighbours, of course. And Adam and his friends and their families.”

“Here?”

“I’ll do the gardening. I’ll make it nice. And I promised you a wedding in Rome.”

“There was that one, remember?”

“I barely saw you then. I was too busy with the water into wine business. No, in Rome, I promised you a wedding with a lot of love. You don’t have to swallow the pearl anymore. You can put it on a ring, and I can put the ring on your finger and say out loud everything I’ve wanted to say. Right here. In our garden. An arbor overhead. Climbing roses. Shingled walks. Benches. A fountain for birds…”

Crowley considered as Aziraphale prattled on. “Do you think we could grow grapes here?”

“Oh, yes! I love grapes!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
